


Feels like Family

by fudgernutter



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 20:29:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10861521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fudgernutter/pseuds/fudgernutter
Summary: Your life until recently has been hard but even with all the money and material wealth you've recently aquired you can't help but feel lonely. Somehow amongst all of these skeletons, it's starting to feel a lot like a family.who's writing a freaking lots'o skeletington story? me. because i needed another one. will update when inspiration strikes.





	Feels like Family

Before you were even a concept, before your Father was even old enough to even consider liking girls, he was the only child to your Grandmother. Your grandmother was Doris Marlow, the sole and only owner to Marlow Energy, the biggest energy company over most of the east coast. After a short and bumpy marriage, leading to a shorter and bumpier divorce, your Grandmother was proud of her accomplishments. The main one was your Father.

When your Father was twenty and fueled by a sense of entitlement and first love, he fought with your Grandmother. What about? Your Mother, who was twenty-five, and beautiful and smart and and funny and everything your father wanted in a woman. He wanted to get married and start a family. Your Grandmother wanted him to stay in school, not ditch it for an older woman he had met on spring break.

Needless to say, your Grandmother’s ultimatum of the family’s riches or your Mother did not go over very well with your Father. He left and never talked to her again.

When you were three your Mother maxed out all the cards your Father had. You guys hadn’t been struggling really, but without your Grandmother’s wealth it was hard to maintain the lifestyle your Father was used to and your Mother asked for. They had to declare bankruptcy. 

You were five when your Mother walked out on the arm of a man much older than your Father asking for divorce. You don’t remember much about that day, but you do remember your Father begging her to stay.

You never saw your mother again.

You were nine when you and your Father moved into a single room apartment. You were twelve when you stopped asking for christmas presents that you ultimately wouldn’t get. You were fourteen when you got your first job to help pay the bills.You were sixteen when you laughed at the guidance counselor who asked you what college you wanted to go to.

You were nineteen when you got the letter from your ailing Grandmother telling you this whole story and wanting to make amends before she died. A Grandmother you didn’t even know you had.

When you confronted your father that night about it all, about why he didn’t tell you about a Grandmother with money who could bail them out of this never ending cycle of constant worry and debt, he cried. Actually cried. You hadn’t seen him cry since that day your mother left.

“Because the whole time she was right,” your Father had told you. “Your Mother only ever wanted me for my money and I- Goddamnit- I loved her. And I- I was too prideful to go back at first. I was smart and I could work hard and provide for you myself. But then, God, I was just scared. Scared she would tell me I told you so. That she would be disappointed. That she’d still be angry.”

You’ll never forget how he blubbered and sobbed over that letter.

Letters started back and forth constantly since that day. Small chunks of money being transferred into you and your Father’s bank accounts. Things got easier. Plans for a visit to your Grandmother’s Historical Mansion in bum-fuck nowhere Maine were planned and the executed in the spring before your twentieth birthday. 

You then met your Grandmother. She was a frail woman who still wore pearls and power suits, her white hair perfectly curled. She greeted you at the door with an oxygen tank and tears in her eyes. Your Father had swept her up into a hug and called her Mom. It had been strange and bizarre, even as you sat in the large parlor after she had taken you on a tour of room with things and uses you had heard the words of only in passing but never in real life. And although for your Father it was a reunion to everything he once knew, to you it was a dream. Something you could never image and have always hoped for all in one.

If fact, when your Grandmother’s maid, a woman only ten years your senior, showed you your room you had laughed until you cried. It was larger than the apartment you had shared with your dad your entire life.

You left the whole place feeling like a lost child along with a free ride to whatever college you wanted to go to and a whole new wardrobe. It made your insides feel weird and a bit squeamish.

Then, not long after your twenty-second birthday, you got a visit from the police. Your Father never made it home that night and now you knew why.

Two days later, Monsters, literal ones, broke out from the Underground.

You supposed you would have been more excited if your Father had been there with you and you weren’t unpacking boxes into a mansion that was too big and too empty, trying to plan a funeral with a Grandmother you hardly knew.

But as always, when life happens, it seems to happen hard, and the woman who was supposed to be helping you recuperate after the untimely death of your Father passed away only one month later to a massive stroke. She left you not only alone, but with a company you didn’t know how to run, a large quantity of funds in money, stock and property, as well as the mansion you had just moved into.

You learned more in the next in the eight months then you ever had in the last twenty-two years.

You kept a lot of the stocks and bonds going or replacing them under your name for retirement. You learned to keep a lawyer on speed dial just in case. A lot of the time, many people assumed that not only your age, but your inexperience and even, God forbid, gender, that you were stupid. 

As for the mansion? You turned many of the rooms into available rental space and started taking taking tenants.

And that’s where your story really starts.

 

You’re twenty-four now, and the last two years renting out rooms and you had learned a lot about dealing with people. Everyone from first time renters to kids going to college looking for a place to dorm up at to even convicts looking for a place to stay had made you feel more like a war weary veteran than a landlord.

Many of your Grandmother’s valuables were locked away in a safe in your own personal quarters, except for some of the antique china which was always kept on display in the china cabinet in the formal dining room. They were your favorite and you liked to display them, if only to just show them off and just look at how pretty they were.

You had turned some of the large acreage into a small garden with lots of veggies and herbs that you took care of with the help of the gardener who came by once a week to help maintain along with the large flower garden you had planted out front. Added with the solar panels added to the roof, thanks in courtesy of your own flourishing company, you were mostly self sufficient.

You didn’t even need to work. All you had to do other than the weekly meeting with both your lawyers and the new company president you had elected almost a year previously. You had found out the last one had been stealing from the company and was a generally racist bastard. 

Currently you were in between tenants, and had put out an add in the newspaper. The last tenants had been abnormally shitty and had really wrecked some of the bedrooms. It had cost you quite a chunk of money to replace drywall, repaint, and recarpet 3 different bedrooms. On top of that, even though they had signed the lease agreements saying that they were liable for any extraneous damage to the property, they had of course not paid up. 

You really didn’t want to do it, and you had even been willing to cut them a smaller portion of the repairs instead of the whole thing, but now you had to get your lawyer in on it and it was just getting more annoying and messy each passing day.

You hated to make generalizations, but this is why you were always weary to rent out to young men. They always seemed to just… make a mess and wreck everything. And although you used to hate this mansion, it was the only thing you had left of your family and you damn sure wanted to take care of it.

In fact, you were finishing painting up the third and final bedroom when your cellphone went off. Making sure to wipe your hand off on your old t-shirt before answering, you grabbed it, “Hello?”

“hi,” replied a deep baritone. “i’m calling about the add in the paper? the one about the rooms for rent?”

“Oh, hey. Yeah, you have the right number,” you answered, shuffling the phone to rest in the crook between your shoulder and head. 

“good. tibia honest with you, i kinda thought this was a joke. i looked up the address and it looked like the marlow mansion.”

“Nope. Still correct. You’re talking to the sole owner of the Marlow Energy Company and so, the Marlow Estate. I rent out the rooms here because the place is huge.”

“really? so you’re ____?”

“Yep. The one and only,” you chuckled back into the phone as you made your way to your room to grab your agenda. “What’s your name?”

“heh my name is sans. i’m actually looking for a couple of room. six to be exact. it’s for me and my family.”

“Family?” You questioned. You didn’t really want to ask too many questions, but normally people who came to your house with a family were falling on hard times. “Okay. Well then Sans, I can’t say for sure I’ll say yes, but when do you think you’ll have time to come by so we can meet? Maybe go over the renters agreement and view the rooms?”

“as soon as possible.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't hurt me. I know I shouldn't have started another story. BUT I CAN'T HELP IT WHEN PLOT BUNNIES STRIKE (wow that's an old term)


End file.
